Where South China waters churn heavy and wide,
A widow rose up with the ocean's own tide.
No emperor’s decree could govern her hand,
She ruled forty thousand across sea and land.
Her laws were of iron, her word absolute—
No plunder unshared, and no thief with his loot.
With hundreds of junks bearing canvas of red,
The empires of Europe beheld her with dread.
The Qing and the Portuguese launched their attack,
Yet her fleet in the bay drove the battle-line back.
She outfought the crown and she outmaneuvered the state,
Till they offered her peace at the emperor's gate.
She surrendered her sails, but retained all her gold,
A pirate supreme who grew peaceful and old.
Though dynasties crumbled and admirals fell,
The terror of Canton lives on in the swell.
Ball caps on,
tickets bought
ready for the big game.
A pack of wrigley's spearmint gum
in my back pocket.
Finding the right seats,
a panoramic view of the field.
Waiting for the players to enter the field,
star spangled banner sang,
all hands on hearts.
The game begins with
people cheering and chanting
H......E.....Y.....
batter batter swing!!
another hit,
another run,
go team go i yell.
As i hold an overpriced beer in cheer
waving down the vendor
for a famous stadium dog with mustard.
A day at the park enjoying Ohio weather
This is how baseball should be
I don't want to think anything
I just want to eat pancit canton
Sip a cup of this brunch coffee
Enjoy this moutain view
That nature has to offer
Enjoy this life this very moment
I don't want to think about
What tomorrow will be like and how.
The streets are filled with crying men,
filling the gutters up with tears.
As we walk from our final shift,
that’s fed us for a hundred years.
Eleven hundred jobs vanished,
like a leaf caught upon the wind.
And Canton North Carolina,
will never be the same again.
What’s in store for us tomorrow,
no one can ever really know.
When your faith is already gone,
and any hope is next to go.
There’s no money left to buy things,
that it will take just to survive.
Wondering if it’d be better,
if I would just lay down and die.
They tell me these are better days,
than how it always used to be.
They sure got a long way to go,
before they can prove it to me.
Because I still don’t have a job,
or any money left to spend.
So please don’t give me any bull,
how this country is on the mend.
Even the drunks on the corner,
are gone but it’s not what you think.
They all have to get sober now,
because they can’t afford to drink.
Canton Here I Come
Written: by Tom Wright
2004
I once traveled to a big time swap meet,
Thinking there, I’d find a deal so sweet.
I swapped my hard cash,
For another man’s stash,
But it was torturous on knees and feet.
WHAT IS LOVE--
What is love, you inspire me by in site;
I love the way you call, cuddle and sigh;
Invading my mind day and through the night;
Sexual passionate love eros high;
O' playful uncommitted ludus moon?
A practical pragna, along with agape;
Love sun heats the gaping peaches to bloom;
As summer love is liken canton crepe;
Love is flight of a bird in mid air preys;
I love your eyelashes and attitude;
Thinking of your big smile fills my days;
My love for you is the phillia nude;
O' now I must pray with an awesome heart;
This what love is together or apart;
3/10/19
Placed 2nd place in Contest
What Is Love Poetry Contest
Enter Contest
Sonnet poetry form only
Sponsored by: Silent One
Can't Jamaica little speed?
I asked the waitress.
It's Chili outside and I'm Hungary.
I told you I'd have tagliatelle.
Canton that to fill my belly.
I thought I might have Turkey,
seeing as it's Christmas.
The cook said he Canada that
until next week.
What a freak!
Wine glasses here, Fullum up.
I prefer my tea in a China cup.
Austin will be joining me.
Ohio Loughlin, a friend Oswell.
That makes a table Fortree.
Silly me, Scotlands too.
I forgot about you.
Forgive my Eire Scot.
The waitress Wales to the Cook
"Strait, yet another mate."
Please sendup a plate.
I see nothing that's made by man's hand.
My eyes make out this deep waterland.
We race sea path this day's way as planned.
Sails full, breeze strong.
Sheets need go far to reach beach and sand.
Sky's clear, way's long.
Wheel feels steady, ship stays straight on course.
We sail nine knots before Auster's force.
No life plays the swells these days for us.
Mates work, they toil.
They keep clipper trim gainsay words coarse.
Know ye, most roil.
Hey Ho, climb the ratlines, hold your jaws.
Stave thee thy bilge or you'll feel cat's claws.
We make Canton without little pause.
Fly jibs, we lug.
Be we slow now, the sea isn't cause.
Blow wind, sails hug.
Though Canton claims it’s communist, it’s not.
Beijing, like Belarus, breeds oligarchs.
There’s nobody alive who’s heard of Marx:
a rickshaw ride’s the only kind of trot.
Seek Mensheviks in Minsk, you’ll end with squat.
In Kursk are cadres countable as quarks,
and proles in Petrograd? Like hunting snarks.
It’s Putin’s perestroika, not Pol Pot.
Why did the whole thing vanish in thin air?
Why’s Sputnik spat on? Why is red so square?
We needn’t be complacent in the West.
There’s lots to learn within the Warsaw Waltz
for, as a tool to scrutinise the faults
of Christian Capital Conquest, it’s the best!
In the twilight, it seems to be so lonely, depressing and emotional. Thoughts seem to be forgotten and unsettle. My canton doesn't feel the same anymore. I arise with pain threw my entire bag of bones. The house , so clammed up. It doesn't utter or make harmony. I catch my mind, speaking so many words. Enough for me to write, on paper. Only coming out in puzzles. So I find myself sitting, gaping around. Praying I had a wellwisher. Someone to hold me tight, telling me everything is going to be alright. Someone to rub my head, putting me to sleep. A slumberland so gentle and sweet. Relaxing my thoughts. Easing my words, so I can lose this weight. This weight breaking my back!
From the Ohio River to the Great Lake Erie.
If they come from Cleveland, or south in Cincinnati,
these talented persons’ works are the ones we should see.
They have written some of this site’s greatest poetry.
They may live in the cities of Canton or Akron;
or perhaps in Columbus, Youngstown, or in Dayton.
They also come from many smaller towns in between.
They’ve written some of the best poetry I have seen.
Many of these folks have graduated from college.
Those that have not still possess incredible knowledge.
To them, poetry is both a science and an art.
Our Ohio members are all naturally smart.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.